She Is My Sin
by XMissxHallawayX
Summary: He's always been there for her.  She's always been there for him.  Friendship can survive anything, except a secret crush, grown from the ashes of her tragedy.  Rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

Abby rolled out of bed, landing on all fours on the floor beside the cot. Her red hair flopped in front of her eyes. She swept it back with her left hand and looked at her face in the mirror on the wall over the sink.

"Fresh-faced and ready to face the day," she muttered, picking up her antique silverback hairbrush and smoothing it through her shoulder-length red hair. When she set it down, she leaned toward a microphone to the side of the mirror.

"Shower, on," she commanded.

A panel on the wall beeped, and a smooth female voice replied, "Voice command recognized. Shower waterfall active. Water temperature is 72 degrees Fahrenheit."

"Shower door, open."

"Voice command recognized. Sliding door opening."

A silver panel of the pristine walls slid to the side as Abby slid off her ivory silk nightgown and her undergarments, hanging the nightgown on a hook to the left of the door and dropping the rest into a bin that slid out underneath of the hook. Her toes slid into the three inch deep pool that her shower waterfall flowed gracefully into. The warmth was bliss.

* * *

><p>"Shower, off," Abby commanded, walking out of the shower room while toweling off her hair. The computer acknowledged her command, and she added another. "Wardrobe, open."<p>

Two silver panels in the wall swung open and retracted into the wall, her clothing racks folding out of the compartment quickly and smoothly. She put on a set of pale blue lace undergarments and perused her selection of dresses, tops, and pants before settling on a tight red designer dress and translucent black tights, dressing swiftly and smoothly. For a moment, she contemplated the prospect of leaving the house without her lab coat, but, with a shrug, she flung the white garment over her shoulder.

"Wardrobe, retract."

"Voice command recognized. Wardrobe is now retracting."

"Elevator, open."

A segment of gold on the pristine walls slid open to reveal her clean and perfect elevator, into which she walked confidently, red heels clicking faintly on the laboratory floor.

Unfortunately, the elevator could only be operated by buttons. She jabbed the button labeled with a G – the main floor of the house – and leaned against the back of the elevator, examining her perfect, blood-red nails until the doors slid open. Then she checked her watch. Not even seven o'clock. Perfect. Derek wouldn't even be awake yet.

She reached out with one hand and pushed aside the wall façade that hid her elevator from prying eyes, blue-green eyes seeking any sign of life around. The curtains were closed, the television off, her mother's boyfriend Mitch snoring on the couch. The redhead sighed in relief and stepped out, sliding the panel closed. Then she opened another panel, this one sliding up, and pressed a thumb to a crystal scanner.

Upon hearing the satisfying sound of her elevator closing and making its ascent to her bedroom, she smirked and headed for the kitchen, preparing the coffee pot. Then she began making breakfast.

* * *

><p>Mitch was the first one awake, hearing the coffee pot and the sizzle of bacon on a cast-iron skillet.<p>

"Good morning, Mitchell," Abby said as he lumbered into the kitchen, taking a seat at the counter.

"Good morning, Abby," he said. "You look more like your mother every day."

"If that is your idea of a compliment, Mitchell, I don't want one," she said.

"Abigail, what have I told you about arguing with Mitch?"

"Morning, Mom," Abby called, extracting the bacon from the pan and retrieving the carton of eggs from the refrigerator. "How did you sleep last night?"

"I slept well, dear. How did you sleep?"

"I slept perfectly," Abby replied, cracking three eggs into the pan. "How would you like them, Mom?"

"Over-easy, darling. How are you planning to handle the first day of school?"

"The way I always do. Stay inconspicuous," Abby said.

"That's good, sweetheart. Stick to your guns."

* * *

><p>Abby stood up from her mother's bright metallic white Aston Martin Vanquish, brushing off her skirt.<p>

"Have a good day, sweetie!"

As the woman sped away, Abby couldn't help but mutter, "Yeah, Marissa, so you can indulge with Mitchell all hours of the day." Turquoise eyes rolled as she walked up to the school, heels clicking against the cement.

"Dropped off by your mother?" called an accented voice from Abigail's left.

"Her car is great for my image as the rich girl who's far too good to socialize or be in a clique," she replied. "Good morning, Dexter."

"I don't know what is good about it," he said, turning a page in the book Abby had loaned him. It was _The Wizard of Oz_ by Frank L. Baum. "What attracts people to this story?"

"You'd have to ask someone who's dead, Dexter. And I won't be involved in another attempt to raise the dead. We all know how the last attempt ended."

Both redheads shuddered, remembering the late-night trip to the local cemetery, which had ended in disaster. They'd tried to raise her great-grandfather, who had been nearly sixty when he'd died, fifteen years before she was born. The stench alone had been horrible; when the corpse had begun speaking, though, his voice was little more than a raspy moan. Abby had taken it upon herself to force the mixture she'd made to end the reanimation into the body's empty eye socket.

They still hadn't told anyone it had been their fault that his grave had still been open the morning after that. They'd run from the cemetery in fear, swearing never to speak of it again.

"Out of mere curiosity, who would I have to ask?" Dexter asked, placing his homemade bookmark in the seam and tucking it into his bag.

"I don't know. Judy Garland might be a good place to start."

The boy scoffed slightly, stood, and extended a hand to her. She took it and shook it for a moment.

"How was your summer?" he asked. The seemingly-innocent question was really a form of challenge.

"Designed and built another robot, added a few dozen new voice programs to Belle's hard drive, and added a fully-designed personality to Hatta – replacing the horribly bland Sean Connery replication software. What did you do, Dexter?"

"It is none of your business," he said. "Are Marissa and Mitchell still together?"

"Yes."

"Of course they are. You have done nothing to separate them."

"I did plenty last year, Dexter."

"Abigail, if your first plan failed, try it again. And keep trying until you succeed," he said, punching the girl's shoulder.

Her turquoise eyes met his dark brown, and she looked away, a bright red blush overtaking her face. They had shared a classroom for the past number of years at every school they attended, and she knew he was completely uninterested in her. He preferred his science and his inventions over the prospect of a romantic relationship. It was plain in the frigid way he regarded the romantic woes of the rest of the school at lunch. He thought of all the girls as simpletons unworthy of affection, and the boys were simply a bunch of babbling baboons.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Dexter~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dexter kept his eyes focused on the school doors in an effort to ignore the flush of red over Abigail's freckled ivory skin. The shade complimented her eyes, mottled as they were in shades of blue and green, with tiny flecks of gold.

He was determined to keep up the façade that he did not care for anyone, when in fact he had cared for someone for a very long time.

Abigail Morgan Bordeaux.

Nearly thirteen years of living across the street from her, he had not once seen her without some form of book in her hand. When his parents had pressured him into going to school with other kids his age – to form bonds with his peers, they had said – he had remained isolated.

That is, until she had approached him, one rainy day in September.

* * *

><p>"<em>Is this seat taken?" she asked, tapping the tabletop next to his lunch tray.<em>

"_It is available," he replied._

"_My name's Abigail. Abigail Morgan Bordeaux," she said, extending her right hand to him. He stared at it, making no movement to accept the gesture, until she dropped her hand to her tray, picking up the pudding bowl and a spoon._

"_Dexter McPhearson," he said frostily after about five minutes, his eyes slowly sliding over her face, memorizing her for future reference._

_They ate in silence, until her unusual eyes found his open notebook._

_She pushed her tray away and pulled the notebook to her, scanning the page with one of his mathematical equations with a finger under each line, following it perfectly. And then her eyes met his._

"_I have never seen any equation more perfectly solved than this," she said. "What were you thinking when you solved it?"_

_Dexter's eyes widened. She was questioning him on mathematical theory. It was at this moment that he realized who her father was. Dr. Anthony Bordeaux – engineer, geneticist, mathematician, and biologist._

_They sank into an easy conversation, discussing a great number of things, and Dexter found himself disappointed when the bell rang for the next class._

* * *

><p>The school loomed ahead with its tall doors open with a sign overhead that read, <em><strong>Welcome, Students!<strong>_ Dexter shook his head slightly.

"Like it'll make the kids in this town stay in this prison, to make it seem welcoming," Abigail muttered.

"Agreed."

Dexter cursed himself for his reaction to her voice. His heart raced at the sound, his blood heating in his veins.

_Geniuses don't blush!_

* * *

><p><strong>My first attempt at a Dexter's Laboratory story seems to be going fairly well. Don't you agree? I thought I'd get right into the good stuff straight off the bat. Most of the plot will be revealed in flashbacks, represented by multiple paragraphs of italicized writing. Any other italicized text will be either foreign languages or thought.<strong>

**Please bear with me. I saw a fragment of an episode of this show in a movie a few weeks ago, and only remembered the show name about five days ago. I felt compelled to write this.**

**As always, much love for my readers.**

**- xHx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Abby is intriguing me right now. The story, yes, is partly inspired by the Nightwish song of the same name. She is inspired, partly, by me. Her eclectic taste, especially.**

**Anyway, I am currently writing 3 chaptered fan-fiction plots and an original short story. I apologize for any delays in updating on this, A Diamond Heart, or The Bone Challenge.**

**I would suggest that you listen to "Slept So Long" from the film _Queen of the Damned_ when you reach the italicized portion, the flashback; that's the song she's singing.**

**xHx**

* * *

><p>The pair of redheads made their way into the central office of the school. They were among the very first students to arrive, as always. It was because of them that those whose employment was based solely in the office had begun arriving before seven in the morning.<p>

"Hello, Abigail, Dexter," said a round-faced, smiling woman behind the counter, seated at a computer with three screens. Abigail herself had designed the masterpiece for her to use at work – as a freshman year project. The following summer, she had designed a personal robot for the woman, naming it Moira.

"Good morning, Beatrice," Abigail said.

"Moira seems to have a short in her wiring. She keeps repeating the same song over and over," she replied, pulling a clipboard from her bottom drawer and laying it on the

"Sounds like a software malfunction. Bring her in tonight. It'll take five minutes to diagnose and ten to fifteen to fix." Abigail plucked a sunflower-adorned pen from the terra cotta pot to her right and signed her name. Mandark – who Abby preferred to call Suzy – had already signed in. She dotted the two Is in her name, set the pen down, and slid the clipboard closer to Dexter. "Suzy's already here?"

"That he is, Abigail," Beatrice said. "I'll be by your house at about six o'clock."

"Glad to hear it," Abby replied, pulling the clipboard back when Dexter's signature adorned the third line. "Cameron Ethan Pavel?"

"A new faculty member. He claims to have experience with those who have a genius IQ."

"Have you met him before, Beatrice?" Dexter asked, pulling the clipboard away from Abby and handing it to the woman.

"He came in this morning to pick up his elevator key for the classroom. He seems nice enough." She pulled two keys from another drawer in her desk. "Do not lose these. There are only six in existence that can take the elevator to your classroom. Each key is implanted with a microchip that activates the tiny blue button between the first and second floor buttons. Any attempt to pick the lock and make it work will make the elevator shut down for three whole hours. If you lose your key, arrive with another student in Mr. Pavel's class. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Beatrice," Abigail said, taking one of the keys. "Crystal clear."

Dexter took the other, and they walked out of the office. Abby's heels clicked nicely on the linoleum floor.

"They think we cannot replicate these keys ourselves?" Dexter said.

"I helped design them, Dexter. Remember last year's design, with the teeth of the key being made entirely of microchip?" The bespectacled boy nodded. "That was Beatrice's idea. This year, I helped improve the design. Instead of the entire lower portion of the key being a microchip, the chip is surrounded by the bronze. Only one small, glass window on the edge of one of the teeth allows them to be scanned. This makes it harder to replicate."

"Oh," Dexter said.

"But," Abby continued, "I have a spare hiding in my lab. I made them myself, so I made myself a little insurance policy. A seventh key."

"Of course you did. How, exactly, did you manage to get the exact same technology into all seven keys?"

_So naïve,_ Abby thought, shaking her head. "I have a microchip design program, Dexter, darling. I made the microchips myself – all seven of them. Of course this was after I redesigned the latch in the elevator and installed the new version. It was easy enough."

The elevator was at the end of the hall. Abby tapped the button on the right and grinned as the door slid away, revealing the stainless steel interior. The duo walked in, and the soft music playing over the speaker engulfed them in a memory…

* * *

><p><em>It was eighth grade. Abby had signed up for the talent show and, because of who her father was, she hadn't required an audition. She'd also been given special permission to utter the single swear word in the lovely and seductive song she'd chosen, though it was featured more than once.<em>

_Her long red hair was curled, contrasting beautifully with the short-sleeved green velvet dress she'd purchased just for this event. Short black satin sandals gleamed on her feet as she lifted her skirt, walking to the microphone._

_Her father had asked eight high-school seniors, ladies, to dress in flowing and seductive dresses that would sway with each step they took in the dance they had been instructed to perform._

_As the seductive, rolling music began, she could not stop her own hips from rolling slightly as her hands gripped the microphone stand. An empty chair glared at her from the front row. Where was her father?_

_He'd never miss a performance._

_Ever._

_As her volume grew and the curse word was flung from her lips, she saw the fear in the eyes of her captivated audience. It was so easy. The audience was in falling in love with her, and no one even flinched the second time she shouted the word._

_She licked her lips and rolled her hips in the lull of the music, releasing the microphone stand._

_She screamed her father's favorite lines of the song with her eyes on his empty chair. He wasn't there to see the crowd's reaction._

_As the audio faded away, she followed the other girls in their dance as they moved from the stage. She had no idea that Dexter was left open-mouthed and staring after her._

* * *

><p><em>An hour later, her mother was waiting with the news, Mitchell on her arm already.<em>

_Dr. Anthony William Bordeaux and six others had died on impact when the airplane they'd chartered to travel from Morocco to the doctor's hometown for his daughter's eighth grade talent show had crashed into a seaside cliff._

_He'd never see the video._

* * *

><p><strong>It was coming. I needed to write this part. The song and the talent show seemed an ideal part to write. I've always wanted a talented character!<strong>

**Much love,**

**xHx**


	3. That Dreaded Note!

**The dreaded author's note interrupting a story.**

**I regret to announce that this is the end...of regular updates. I will have minimal, if any, access to the computer over the next few months. I feel like a complete schmuck for doing this to you, but there is no other way.****  
><strong>

**I home that in doing this, I have not lost your respect. I still love you, my adoring and devoted fans. Wish me luck for the summer. I know I need it.  
><strong>

**_Nen vaer a lalaith veren n'i a-govenim_****_  
><em>**

**xHx_  
><em>**


	4. Chapter 3

**So sorry that it's taken me this long to post a new chapter! I've been away from my usual computer for an unsavory amount of time.**

* * *

><p>Abby twirled a strand of red hair around her left index finger as the elevator flew below the school. She and Dexter had assisted in this beauty's design. It could, in addition to up and down, also go forward and backwards. The class was not actually part of the school – it was in another building, a place where their experiments could go on without the general public any the wiser.<p>

Abby certainly enjoyed it.

"So, Dexter," she said, fidgeting a little.

"Yes, Abigail?" If Abby didn't know better, she'd say he sounded hopeful.

"I know you have your own collection of personal robots…"

"Yes?"

_Good lord, his accent is so sexy,_ she thought, closing her eyes. "I was wondering if maybe we could collaborate on a gift for the assistant principal. Get him back on our side."

"A gift, you say?" Dexter said. She could feel his eyes on her. "You do remember that giving him gifts has in the past brought about insane pranks on the part of Mandark. Right?"

"I'm completely aware. I just think it's time we get on his good side again. Get him to realize that just because most of our experiments end in a huge explosion, doesn't mean that we're all budding terrorists."

Glancing at Dexter from the corner of her eye, she saw that he was, indeed, watching her, a little conceited smile on his face as he leaned against the wall of the elevator. His wide green eyes were focused on her and her alone through those glasses of his, hands in his pockets. Acting as though she had just remembered, she made a show of digging her lab coat from her satchel.

~*~*~*~*~*~Dexter~*~*~*~*~*~

Dexter watched. He admired her from afar. But he did not touch, did not reach out.

He could not identify this feeling. It was strong, and it caused his heart to throb unevenly at the sight of her, or the sound of her voice, or even the delicate scent of her perfume.

Citrus, spice, and a hint of lavender.

The scent teased him, especially in close places like this elevator.

If he didn't know better, he'd say that he was pleased by the scent of her perfume.

~*~*~*~*~*~Abby~*~*~*~*~*~

Tearing her eyes from his figure, she looked at the steel doors as the elevator was propelled forward.

"Where do you purchase your perfume?"

It was so sudden, so unexpected, that if she had not heard it in his accent, she would have sworn that someone else had said it. Even though they were the only ones in the elevator.

"I make it for myself, Dexter. This is my own, no one else's," she answered softly. "Why?"

"Simple curiosity, nothing more."

She didn't believe that, and was about to say do when the steel doors slid open smoothly, revealing the classroom they spent their days in. A tall man in a lab coat much like those worn by both Dexter and Abigail stood at the whiteboard near the front of the classroom. Abby entered the room, expression determined, while Dexter followed behind.

"Mr. Pavel, I presume?" she said, approaching him. She barely offered a nod to Suzy, who was seated at his usual desk.

"And you must be Miss Bordeaux," he said, accepting the slender-but-firm handshake she offered to him. "And Mr. McPhearson as well! This is a pleasure to meet the both of you at once!"

He was very kindly, but Abby didn't feel like she could trust him. There was something off about the greeting he gave.

"What happened to Mrs. Martinez?" she asked, trying to be polite.

"Oh, she had to take a different job. For her health. The feuding of this class started to get to her, especially where Mr. Astronomonov and Mr. McPhearson are concerned," he said, laughing some as he extended his hand to Dexter.

Dexter refused the gesture.

* * *

><p>That evening, after dinner had been finished, Abby sat in her lab, tinkering with a few odd pieces of metal, when Dexter's face, stationary though it was, blinked across her screen.<p>

"_Incoming video call from – Dexter McPhearson,"_ her computerized notification voice shouted.

"Answer," she said, tucking the metal into a drawer and turning towards the monitor.

A moving image appeared, of Dexter in his secret underground lab. They had not shared the precise locations of these laboratories, but they let each other see what happened, though not allowing their work to be shown in progress.

"Good evening, Abigail," he said, hands busy with a folder.

"Good evening, Dexter," she replied. "What do you need?"

"Your opinion. You have always been more of an emotional type than I."

"My, my, Dexter – finally admitting you have some human emotion?"

Thin fury was evident in his expression. "I have never denied it."

"Very well," Abby said, making a note on a paper nearby – _Dexter is human – alien theory removed._ "What do you need advice concerning?"

The fury vanished, replaced by a vaguely embarrassed expression. "Well, it is…hard to describe. There is this one girl. Whenever I am near her, I feel…"

"Butterflies in the stomach?" Abby said, setting her pen down, surprise in her features.

"Is that a bad thing?" Dexter looked and sounded worried.

"No, no…quite the opposite, actually. That's a very good thing. You've got a crush, and now you must tell me who this girl is so I can thank her."

Dexter shook his head. "You will find out before long."

This was a surprising statement. Abby shook her head and sighed. "You're not going to tell me now, but you'll tell me later? Like, tomorrow at school?"

"At a later date, certainly. Perhaps not tomorrow, but soon."

Abby rolled her eyes. "So, the lovely Beatrice called the house earlier. Apparently, the school is planning a huge Halloween masquerade and haunted house, and she was tasked with asking us to create original animatronics for the haunt. Just you and me – she doesn't trust Suzy, Lisette, or Mina to create stuff that can be both kid-friendly and horror-film-quality."

"It is always good to know we are trusted," Dexter said. "What is the haunt's theme?"

"It's supposed to be an original villain idea, but all the good stuff's already been done. I mean, what with Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, Leatherface, Jigsaw…heck, even Mary Shaw. As such, we need to embrace some of the classic clichés."

"Such as?"

"I was thinking of something along the lines of the standard of a particular Knott's Scary Farm haunt. Club Blood. I've grown addicted to the videos some people post on the internet of this specific haunt and I believe we can tailor it to our needs."

"That is truly interesting. It is a vampire theme, correct?" Abby nodded. "That can be tailored for anything. Can we discuss this tomorrow?"

"Of course. Write a few ideas down. Watch the videos as well. See what they did and how it could be improved upon."

Dexter nodded, and the two signed off, retiring to the beds in their separate laboratories, feeling more at-ease than they ever had with anything in their young lives.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry to leave off the flashback concept. For those who don't scare quite so easily, the video referred to by Abby can be found below:<strong>

**watch?v=nDOCuRFnd4I**

**Just tack it onto the back of the ordinary YouTube URL and sit enamored. Not exactly for those under 13 years of age. Two words – vampire poledancers.**

**xHx**


End file.
